


Step Right Up

by raeldaza



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Carnival, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeldaza/pseuds/raeldaza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a carnival in town for the summer, and Joly may be just a bit infatuated with one of the over-cheerful carnies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Right Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RevolutionariesDontWearPlaid (GhostGrantaire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGrantaire/gifts).



> First posted on tumblr, then here, because why not.
> 
> Also, cotton candy is called candy floss/fairy floss in the UK, I believe. That plays a minor role, so just like, FYI.
> 
> Dedication because I know the struggle of having favorites that are always background character ships and never the leads and the enduring frustration that comes with it.

The first time Joly passes the summer-long carnival on his way home from work, he barely even notices it. He’s coming off a ten-hour night shift at the hospital, and he’s far more interested in shoving his face in a pillow than watching carnies erect a Farris Wheel.

The second time Joly passes the summer-long carnival on his way home from work, he notices it with his ears before his eyes. It opened the day before, and the screaming toddlers, yelling game operators, and rolling rides are a rather unmistakable sound. Grumbling slightly to himself and fighting off a headache, he walks straight past.

The third time Joly passes the summer-long carnival on his way home from work, he stops, thinks _cotton candy_ , and takes a sharp turn left inside.

* * *

 “Come, step right up! You - cute, short Korean man with the fetching blue scrubs!” Startled, Joly looks over. “How about you give the ladder a try? Only three dollars, and you could win any number of prizes!” The man’s tall, quite tall, actually, and the sun is reflecting off his bald head. Normally, Joly would completely ignore vendors, but the man sounds legitimately cheerful, so he takes a couple tentative steps forward.

“Were you talking to me?” Joly asks, slowly.

“Why yes!” the man replies brightly. He’s leaning on his stool, which looks about ready to break.

“And what’s your game?”

“All you have to do is climb this horizontal ladder ten feet to the top, and press the button. Every rung you get up is a higher prize, and if you get to the top, you get one of the massive ones.” He gestures to an indeed massive stuffed donkey that Joly instantly kind of wants. “Do you want to give it a try?”

Joly smiles a little weakly at him, and waves his cane in front of him. The man’s smile automatically dims.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see that.”

“That’s alright,” Joly says, leaning on his cane. “I’d probably try it if I, you know, could.”

The man gives a sympathetic smile before his eyes widen.

“Is that a _moth_ on the top of your cane?” He leans in, sounding entranced.

“Yes!” Joly exclaims, pleased. He shoves it towards the man so he can get a better look, but is a bit too enthusiastic, because he hits him straight in the chest. He winces slightly, about to apologize, but the man doesn’t even seem to notice.

“That’s amazing,” he breathes, grabbing the top to look at it closer. “Is that a white plume moth?”

“Oh my God,” Joly blurts. “There is someone you really have to meet.” He colors slightly. “Yes, it is, actually. My roommate picked it out.”

“It’s very fetching,” the man says, giving Joly a blinding smile. Joly feels his heart stop momentarily before starting again, on overtime. Surreptitiously, he grabs his left wrist with his right hand, his fingers digging into his radial artery. _One, two, three, four, five, six, multiply by ten_.

“I have a T-Rex one at home that I swap with this one every three days,” Joly says. _140 heartbeat. That can’t be healthy_ , he thinks dimly.

“That’s incredible,” the man says, with so much sincerity that Joly can’t stop his smile or the way his pulse picks up another ten beats per minute.

“Oh, I thought so.” He pulls his cane back, and swings it down suavely to rest on, in a move James Bond would envy.

Or, almost, if it didn’t land in a discarded pile of chili cheese fries. He ignores it, hoping the carnie won’t notice.

“Your cane’s in some food.” And there goes that hope.

“Ah, yes, so it is,” Joly says, nodding sagely. “Who would have thought.”

The man is still smiling radiantly and looking far too cheerful than a carnival worker rightly should, but Joly’s still one small step away from mortification, so he does the first thing he can think of to salvage the situation.

“Want some cotton candy?”

“Oh God, yes,” the man says, reaching for it with ‘gimmie’ hands. Joly takes a moment to be a little hopelessly endeared before handing it over. “I have to smell this all day, and it’s torture. This and the kettle corn.”

“I can’t smell kettle corn.”

“It’s over by the basketball game,” the man says, pointing towards the other end, his mouth full of blue sugar. “I move games a lot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to train at one, so you know how it works?” Joly asks.

“Nah,” the man says, which is a surprise to Joly, but he supposes med school probably didn’t prepare him to know the innerworkings of carnival games. He still wasn’t sure how they could possibly rig bottles to not fall down without glue. “I can’t actually do any of them, so they move me around. The best is the one with the ducks, where you pick them up with the fishing rods,” he mimes it with his the cotton candy bag. “That one’s a bit impossible to mess up. But they give that one to Jehan, since he’s better with the fish that we give away as prizes.”

“How can you be bad with fish?” The man grimaces.

“By leaving them out in the sun for them to get sunstroke? Or, kicking over their bowls on accident and having to pick them out of the dirt?”

“That’s terrible,” Joly says, feeling it deep in his heart. The poor fish never knew it had taken its last circle around the fish bowl, never knew it had seen his reflection for the last time.

“I know. I felt so bad I cried, and they gave me the day off.”

“I’m Joly,” he blurts, unable not to after that admission.

“Bossuet,” the man offers. He reaches out his hand to shake, but the cotton candy is still in it, over half gone. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it; I don’t even like cotton candy that much.” Joly loves cotton candy. The thought of it had prompted him to go inside a carnival, a germy disgusting _carnival_ , after a fifteen-hour shift of being puked on, pulled in six different directions, and only eating jello for lunch.

“I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow. I promise; I’ll bring money and everything.” Joly smiles wide.

“I’ll hold you to that, my friend.”

* * *

 The next day, Joly’s in his best dinosaur scrubs, the top of his cane is changed, his shoes have been tied and double knotted, and he’s stubbornly ignoring his pounding headache.

The carnival is alive and well in its third day. The cows are mooing, children are screaming and running, rides are humming, cascading into a cacophony of indistinguishable clamor that Joly refuses to let set his teeth on edge. He steps over discarded food and wrappers without letting it bother him, and keeps one hand firmly on his cane, and the other firmly in his pocket, decidedly not touching any surface. The air feels hot and heavy, sticky in that way it only can in summer when rain is on the horizon.

It’s not where he wants to be around, but it’s where _who_ he wants to be around is, so he walks on through the dirt and dust, making his way to the ladder game. Bossuet is slouched on his stool, feet tapping on the ground, grin still firmly in place. Joly ruffles his hair slightly, because Courfeyrac is constantly telling him that disheveled hair is sexier. He stops after a moment, because a). his hair is short and straight; it repels being disheveled, and b). he’s been at the hospital the entire day; it’s not getting any more unkempt than it already is.

“Hey,” he greets, dragging out the y.

“Hi!” Bossuet jumps up. “I got you something!” Bossuet reaches under his stool and throws a Joly sized bag of cotton candy straight at him, which he manages to catch one-handed. He spends a moment being severely displeased that none of his friends would know what a coordinated move he just pulled off.

“Oh,” Joly says, slightly belatedly. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” Bossuet answers warmly, oblivious that he threw a man-sized bag at a one-currently-useable-armed man. “My friend Cosette works the cotton candy machine. When I said I needed some for a friend, she gave me all the leftovers they normally throw out at the end of the day. She wrapped it tight, so it should still taste great.”

“There’s enough of it,” Joly says, trying to maneuver it to be manageably carryable.

“Oh,” Bossuet’s smile dims, which is completely unacceptable. “Right, you’re a nurse, cotton candy is unhealthy, what was I—” He cuts himself off at seeing Joly rip open the bag and shove a handful into his mouth.

“I’m no dentist,” Joly says around the blue cotton candy.

“Oh,” Bossuet replies dumbly. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” Joly says again, because it bears repeating.

“No problem,” Bossuet says. “I was just thinking—”

“Hey you.” Joly turns towards the interruption, which turns out to be a teenage boy who looks ready for a Motley Crue concert. “Can I play your game?”

“I’ll let you work,” Joly says. He smiles before he turns away, and makes sure to spin his cane slightly wide, just enough to catch the teenager on the shins.

* * *

 “You’ve moved,” Joly comments, sliding up to Bossuet, who startles slightly. He’s wearing a slightly damp looking Newsie cap today, and Joly is caught between being hopelessly charmed and slightly worried about the bacteria that grows on damp cotton. Aspergillus fumigatus – he learned about that on his fourth day of toxicology, which is something he’ll never forget, seeing that his professor forced him to write an alliterative sonnet to remember the different forms of bacteria.

“I have. Any interest in shooting a water gun at a target?”

“I don’t think so; I’d probably miss and hit you, and who’d want you to get wet?” Joly says, winking.

“A couple people have today,” Bossuet says, wrinkling his nose, seemingly oblivious to the lame flirting. Joly’s actually a little relieved. “I’m still a bit damp. One hit my pocket, with all my money.”

Reaching into his shirt coat, he pulls out a small wad of cash, which is completely wrinkled from water damage.

“That’s a shame,” Joly says. “Now you can’t pay your parking ticket.”

“Parking ticket?” Bossuet repeats, confused.

“Yeah, ‘cause you have fine written all over you.”

“What?”

“Wait,” Joly frowns. “That wasn’t right.”

“Huh?”

“You know what,” Joly says, sliding off his chair. “I’m going to back away now, and go buy an corn dog, and go home. Backing up, backing up, backing up, and – gone.”

* * *

 “I thought you said you sucked at these games,” Joly says, taking a bite out of his caramel apple. Silently, he apologizes to his dentist for the existence of Bossuet.

“I do, usually,” Bossuet says as he throws another ring. And once again, it lands perfectly on the top of a glass bottle.

“You’ve just rung eight in a row,” Joly points out. “That allows you to get one of the medium stuffed animals.”

“I haven’t paid.”

“Here,” Joly says, reaching into his scrubs. He hands over five dollars. “You’re my game liaison. You’re paying for me, because my poor crippled self can’t play this game—”

“Your foot is on improperly; your arms are just fine,” Bossuet points out, which Joly ignores completely, because he has the hand coordination of a duckling and really wants a stuffed animal.

“—And you will win me that donkey, and I will name him Perissodactyla, and we’ll go on with our lives.”

Bossuet squints at him.

“I’m not sure that’s allowed.”

“Please?” Joly asks, trying to flutter his eyelashes. The constant blinking makes his eyes water, though, so he stops before it can get the full effect.

“Can his middle name be Sean?” Bossuet asks.

“Of course,” Joly answers solemnly.

* * *

 “I wasn’t going to mention anything, but now that you have a giant donkey, I think it’s about time I ask.” Combeferre says a moment after Joly walks through the door.

“Ask about what?” Joly questions, putting his cane in its holder.

“Why you’ve been coming in two hours late from your shifts with various carnival foods for about a month.” Joly jumps on the couch. Combeferre’s watching a singing show, which is going to last about as short as Joly can make it.

“I’ve been going to the carnival,” he says, reaching for the remote.

“Right,” Combeferre replies, reaching over and taking the remote back from his hand. “And I distinctly remember last year when the carnival came about, I asked you if you wanted to go, and you hit me in the shins with your cane, and then gave a speech about angry microorganisms and projectile vomit.”

“Ah yes,” Joly nods seriously. “But last year the love of my life wasn’t working the games.”

“The love of your life is a carnie?” Combeferre asks, squinting at him.

“Yes,” Joly answers. After a moment, Combeferre nods slightly to himself.

“Okay then. We’re still watching American Idol.”

“That’s been canceled. Are you really watching reruns?” Combeferre just shrugs, and Joly sighs to himself, like he won’t be intensely wondering which David will win by the end of the night.

* * *

 “So, I was wondering,” Bossuet rocks back on his heels. Joly looks up from his ice cream cone. “I have tomorrow off. So, wondering, you know, if you maybe wanted to go out?”

“Oh, um,” Joly says, eyes widening. “Oh.”

“You can say no, eh,” Bossuet says, swaying back and forth slightly, because obviously he’s an example of sophisticated class. “Just thought it might be something you—”

“Hey, dude, can I have two games—”

“No,” Bossuet snaps, not even turning to look at the middle aged man. “I’m helping another customer.”

“He’s just sitting there—”

“I’m _busy_ ,” He barks again, voice slightly wavering this time. The man walks off in a huff, and Bossuet turns back to Joly, looking a bit shaken. Joly instantly feels absolutely terrible.

“So, what do you think? Maybe dinner?” For the first time, his grin looks a little awkward, a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t think we should go out,” Joly says, feel completely pained with every word.

“Ah, right, of course, you could say that too.” Bossuet’s grin drops from his face, and it’s the first time Joly’s ever seen him without it. It looks wrong. “That’s an acceptable response.”

“Look, Bossuet, let me—”

“Oh look, my pager just went off. They want me at the basketball game. Huh, go figure, better go.” Bossuet’s pager is clipped onto his pocket, completely visible to Joly, and hasn’t rung in at least twenty minutes.

“I’ll walk you there,” Joly offers, slightly desperate to keep him.

“Ah, no, look, they actually want me in an employee only tent. Ha. Who would have figured.”

“I can still walk you there,” Joly says, reaching forward to grab his elbow. Bossuet jerks away clumsily, eyes wide.

“Nope, you can’t, it’s really far away, far too far. So far away that this conversation can’t continue.”

At that, Bossuet practically sprints away from his post. Joly doesn’t move from the spot, even though he’s completely alone and not even sure what he’s waiting for. It’s only after a child asks him to play the game that he’s shaken from his stupor. With a last look at Bossuet’s empty seat, a kind wavering word to the child, he blinks back a tear, and heads home.

* * *

 “What’s wrong?” Combeferre asks the moment he walks in the door, which is so typical and so lovely that Joly can’t help but to march over, yank him up by his sleeve, and hug him. He shoves his face in Combeferre’s sweater, which seems to be argyle. Combeferre’s hand comes up to pat his hair; his hands are large, almost the size of Joly’s head, so when he pets his head, it feels like he could squish it. The fact that he does not and simply pets the hair feels oddly comforting.

“The game vendor asked me out today.” Joly sniffs into Combeferre’s sweater. It definitely is argyle, and is definitely over a decade old. And, somehow, he still manages to look cool; the man was a mystery.

“And that’s made you sad?” Combeferre asks, bewildered. “How?”

“I had to reject him.”

“Why?” Combeferre asks, somehow even more baffled.

“Because he’s a carnival worker. Those things _travel_. I’m not going to start something with someone who’s constantly moving across the country! I need someone to wake up with, and make pancakes with, and watch movies with. I really, really like him, Combeferre, but I’m not cut out for long distance. And getting a taste of having him without being able to keep him would just be impossible.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“He ran away when I said no,” Joly sniffs. He can feel Combeferre put his chin on his head, and Joly sort of wants to keep him forever, in a purely best friend, appreciative of his hugs kind of way.

“You should go back and tell him.”

“He ran away,” Joly says, voice a little too quiet, a little too vulnerable for his taste.

“Well,” Combeferre says, after a very long, quiet moment. “Courfeyrac’s out comforting a friend tonight at the bar, so I’m free. Do you want to make banana bread?”

“Yes,” Joly answers, rubbing his eyes.

* * *

 “Hey,” Joly says.

“Hello,” Bossuet replies, not looking up.

“You moved,” Joly says, not knowing what else to say.

“I almost got fired after leaving my post when." Bossuet swallows roughly. "Well, you know when. My boss happened to be walking by right when I ran.”

“That sucks; I’m sorry.”

“My luck,” Bossuet shrugs. He’s playing with his fingers, and sounding far too down for Joly’s peace of mind. “Did you want to play the game or something?”

“No, I just came to apologize.” At that, Bossuet buries his head in his hands.

“Oh God, please don’t. If anything can make this worse, that could. Please ignore that ever happened.”

“But I want to explain—”

“Is that a thaumetopoea pityocampa?” Bossuet interrupts. Joly only 40% believes it’s because he was genuinely distracted by Joly’s scrubs and not because he desperately wanted to redirect the conversation.

“How do you even know that?” Joly asks. These were a present from Courfeyrac, back when he was trying to woo Combeferre. He special ordered them with all his favorite moth types, but unfortunately accidentally ordered them for someone 5’4” instead of 6’4”. Joly never minded – Combeferre’s loss, his gain.

“One of my good friends was trying to ask out a guy who liked moths, so he constantly was researching them and having me quiz him on types. You learn a bit, after a while.”

“What’s this friend’s name?” Joly asks. Seducing via moths cannot be that common of a trait to have.

“Courfeyrac,” Bossuet says, which figures, for how Joly’s life is going right now.

“How did you meet him?” Joly asks. He’s not sure what to feel – some sort of relief that there aren’t two people lame enough to think learning about moths will be sexy, or utter confusion at how these two people happen to know each other.

“Law school,” Bossuet replies, making Joly’s head go to a brief halt.

“But you work at a carnival.”

“Do you have any idea how much law school costs?” Bossuet says, which was so not what Joly meant. “I need some sort of supplemental income.” He frowns. “Wait, how do you know Courfeyrac?”

Joly points to himself, “Combeferre’s roommate.”

“Oh,” Bossuet says. “Well, that figures. There go game nights Courfeyrac was so excited about.”

“Why? And you’re not moving?”

“Because I don’t want to see you at them? And, no, why would I be moving? Do you mean like, moving away, moving, or moving as in I should be like, walking, moving?”

“Why don’t you want to see me? And the former, the moving away, moving.”

“Because you rejected me? And no, why would I move?” The conversation is starting to make Joly’s head spin a little, and he suddenly wishes he hadn’t stayed the extra hour to help the intern learn phlebotomy, because he could use that hour of sanity back.

“I only rejected you because I thought you were moving.”

“Moving where?" Bossuet throws his hands in the air. "Who told you I was moving?” 

“No one! I thought you were moving with the carnival! Like, a permanent carnie!”

“I’m ¾ of the way through a law degree and you thought I was a permanent carnie? I really have to up my game a little here. Should I start dropping legal argot into casual conversation?”

“Please don’t start talking in legalese,” Joly asks, trying to catch a foothold in the conversation. “Can we get back to the part where you apparently go to college in town with my friend?”

“What about that part?”

“It means that you won’t move away and break my heart from distance.”

“Wait,” Bossuet frowns. “Break your heart?”

“Hey Bossuet,” Joly nearly shouts at him, desperately wanting to get the conversation to its important ending point, and accidentally making Bossuet startle a little. Whatever – subtlety and class have never been a stronghold in their relationship. “Go out with me?” Bossuet’s eyes go wide.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Let’s do that.”

“McDonald’s has a sale on dinosaur chicken nuggets today because of the new Jurassic Park movie, if you want to go after your shift.”

“Count me in,” Bossuet says, grinning widely. Joly grins back.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on [tumblr](http://raeldaza.tumblr.com) if you so want.
> 
> As always, feel free to comment/kudo, I read/look at every one, but if not, have a blessed day, and thank you for reading.


End file.
